Fireblood Page 3

  My shoulders slump as she lays the gown across my bed. I close the door. She thinks I’m joking. Or rather, she’s unwilling to believe anyone would not want to marry the prince. I see kindness in her eyes, however. She may be the only one stationed in the castle who will help me. “Please, Maid Madity,” I say, inflecting as much feeling into my voice as possible. “I cannot—will not—marry the prince. I beg of you, help me to—”

  Her hand covers my mouth, her eyes wide. “Nay, princess. You must call me only Madity.” She nods. “Please, I insist.” There must be listening devices, I realize, and she’s stopped me from blundering into treason.

  I step back, and my eyes search her serious face. She won’t help me escape; that is clear, and I have no right to ask it of her. She’d risk her very life by helping me. No. I couldn’t live with that. I need to find a way out that doesn’t compromise her.

  She lifts the white gown. “The prince loves white.” Her fingers caress the satin. “He had your betrothal gown made just for you.”

  Realization dawns. How long ago must someone have begun this gown to have it ready on the day after my arrival? How long have they been planning a ceremony involving me without my knowledge? How long has the Force been watching me?

  Because of this betrothal, my father is in the Oubliette now.

  Anger boils under my skin. “Then he can wear it,” I snap, in spite of our tapped chamber.

  She frowns and drops the dress back on the coverlet. “So many other maidens, princess,” she reminds me, and steps into the bathing room.

  Despite her cheeriness toward my predicament, I admit she’s probably correct in thinking my plight futile—that I should wrap myself in the elegant garment and shuffle off to marry the most sought-after man in Karm. She’s right, of course; it’s utterly futile.

  Even if I somehow made it out of the castle undetected, and past the towering walls, where would I go? Not only would the farmhouse be the first place the Force would look, but I’m positive new residents have already moved in to take over the cloning procedure.

  I have no home.

  I stare at the white gown. Its shimmery skirt hangs over the edge of the bed. Today is my birthday, and I’m now of marrying age by Karm’s standards. Just over four weeks ago, Prince Sebastian announced his intention to find a maiden to wed. As he’s only nineteen, all assumed this was a move toward him taking the throne. A wife would mature him in the eyes of Karm.

  The news had spread through the realm like wildfire. Or, how I imagine a wildfire would spread and consume if it were allowed. Every girl of age had gone into a frenzy. Hadley had talked about it nearly every day.

  Not me. I watched my father wither.

  The force field may imprison Karm, but Prince Sebastian has imprisoned me. I’m trapped in a prison within a prison.

  After I’m dressed in a soft cream gown—much nicer than anything I’ve ever worn before—and Madity has brushed out my hair, she claps her hands together and toddles over to the com interface along the chamber wall.

  “The princess is ready,” she says into the com, then turns toward me. “Sir Devlan will be here soon to escort you to breakfast with the prince.”

  I nod absently, my brain steadily concocting schemes and escape scenarios.

  During my shower, I noticed the glass-encased stall had a com, too. I was relieved to find there was no camera above it, like the Eye on my balcony. Afterward, I studied every inch of my chamber, looking for Eyes—the camera devices used by the Force to ensure our safety, or to spy on us, making sure we’re obedient citizens. There were none that I could find.

  However, my chamber is bugged. Madity proved that when she wouldn’t allow me to speak anything against the prince. I’ll have to watch myself around him and make certain I don’t give away my intentions. That will be difficult, as merely looking upon his face will surely elicit the hatred I feel toward him and the Force.

  Prince Sebastian may not have been the one to raise his hand to my father, but he commands the hands of those who did. He is every bit as vile to me as King Hart and the Force combined. He’s the reason I’m not with my father now—the reason my father is suffering and dying alone in the Oubliette.

  “Princess?” Madity approaches me. “Are you ill?”

  Alarmed, I right myself on the settee and clear my throat. “Nay, I’m not. But—I’m sorry. Should you be addressing me as princess? I’m not technically…yet.”

  “The prince has instructed as much, my lady.” She bows her head.

  Of course. “I’m curious about the prince.” I smile, sit forward. “Tell me, what is his manner?”

  Madity wrings her hands. “Oh, I’ve known Prince Sebastian since he was a little boy.” She beams. “I admit, one might think him conceited”—she eyes me—“but he has a good heart. I think he will be a fine ruler and husband…in time.” She says this last part so low that the listening devices may not have picked it up.

  I think on her words. Using the prince’s self-importance against him could work in my favor. Those who view themselves as so desirable never question whether others don’t, and he’s never met me. He has no reason to question whether today is not the happiest day of my life. To him, I’m simply another maiden of Karm who pines after him. Which does raise the question: Why me? Why, out of all the more suited noble ladies and courtiers, would he choose a country girl?

  I shake the thought from my head. It’s unimportant. Finding a way to escape the Force and those who would lock me up at the slightest show of illness is my only concern. Another plan has been formulating, too. The Oubliette is somewhere on the court grounds. What if I could free my father?

  Someone knocks on the door and Madity shuffles over and opens it. “Sir Devlan.” She curtsies slightly, her bad leg hindering her. “The princess is ready to break her fast and meet with her soon-to-be betrothed.”

  There is no response from the other side of the doorway. I push a heavy breath through my lips and rise from my seat. Running my hands along the gown Madity selected, I brush out the creases, then brace myself to face the prince.

  As I step toward the door, I’m surprised by the knight in the corridor. He’s not dressed in armor or sporting the crimson and silver insignia of the Force. He stands at perfect attention to his full height of perhaps six-two. His black and midnight-blue uniform brings out the color of his pale blue eyes, and his dark, nearly black hair hangs in loose wisps, feathering his eyes and ears. His eyes penetrate mine, and my breath shudders as they flick down my body, assessing me.

  Madity steps to the side. “Princess Zara, may I present Sir Devlan Capra, Prince Sebastian’s first knight.”

  “Princess.” Sir Devlan bows at the waist.

  I don’t know the proper way in which to acknowledge his address, so I simply nod. “Sir Devlan.”

  He sweeps his hand through the air and holds his arm outstretched. I assume that’s my cue to walk ahead of him. I turn to Madity. “Thank you for everything.”

  She waves me off. “’Tis my pleasure and honor, m’lady.”

  I step into the corridor and head toward the spiral staircase. Once we reach the lower level, I take in every inch of the castle, endeavoring to learn my surroundings and my way around here.

  Deep blue and silver tapestries drape the walls. Large pillars reach toward the steepled ceiling, and dark veins in the stone walls separate the swirls of gold, silver, and amber. Castle Karm is something constructed right out of one of the antique books my father used to sneak to me. Books I hungrily devoured about a time before the Final War. Before King Hart built a land around his ideal perfect society.

  Camelot.

  He’s constructed his entire realm after King Arthur’s beloved city, trusting its citizens to recreate the peaceful and picture-perfect utopia. Hadley and I spent many hours debating and inventing possible reasons why King Hart chose Camelot as his guide. It continues to remain a mystery to us as well as the rest of the citizenry. Though I admit, it’s a fine i
dea, trying to reinvent a time once believed to be unspoiled. But Camelot was a dream, a fiction.

  Karm is real, and not perfect.

  The air is chill, and the corridor’s disturbingly quiet. The only sound comes from Devlan’s boots hitting hard stone and echoing through the corridor as he marches behind me. I glance over my shoulder. His right hand rests on the pommel of his sword—he must be left-handed—and his gaze is steady on me. Irritated, I face forward. I don’t like the feel of him walking behind me, scouting for some attack as if he’s my guard. Or my servant.

  “Sir Devlan, you could walk ahead of me,” I say. “I think you could better protect me from the front.”

  He’s quiet for a long moment, then says, “There is no attack to fear, princess.” I wait for him to say something more, but he doesn’t.

  “Then why not walk in front or beside me if there’s no reason for it?”

  He takes another moment to answer. It’s infuriating. “There’s a reason.”

  “And…it is?”

  “I would like to keep my eyes on you.” The thought of this knight watching my backside makes my insides squirm. I hug my arms around my stomach as he continues. “It’s my duty to place knights around you to protect you. Even from yourself.”

  I slow my steps. “What does that mean?”

  “The sudden disappearance of the princess wouldn’t bode well.” His footsteps quicken, bringing him closer. “I don’t want to explain to King Hart or Prince Sebastian how I lost the princess if she manages to get herself lost.”

  My blood freezes in my veins. Did he hear what I said to Madity? Is he the person eavesdropping on the other side of the listening devices? Or did Madity expose me? No. I don’t believe that kind-hearted woman would do that. But the fact the prince’s first knight may be aware of my intentions is unsettling.

  I’m quiet as he guides me around a corner toward an indoor garden. I reach for the atrium door handle, but Devlan’s hand grasps it first. He leans his weight against the door, keeping it closed. He’s nearly pressed into me, a mere inch between us, and the heat of his body sends a current zipping along my skin.

  He smells of forest and mint, and something sweet I can’t identify. “It would be unwise, princess,” he whispers, his warm breath brushing my ear. “If you were to suddenly disappear, my knights and I would not be the only ones punished.”

  I loose the breath I’d been holding. He presses the handle down and opens the door as his other hand cups my lower back, giving me a slight push into the sunlit room.

  Fear prickles my skin, but all questions and thoughts are forced to the back of my mind as I’m greeted with Prince Sebastian rising from his chair. Gold and silver are woven through his cream tunic, and an intricate crest showing a lion—its massive paw gripped around a heart—decorates its center. It glimmers in the morning light, drawing my eye. His elegant garment is drawn together tightly by a studded belt. A sword scabbard hangs at his waist.

  “Your Highness.” Devlan lowers himself into a dignified bow. He then turns toward me, dips his head, and moves to the far end of the atrium. He leans against the floor-to-ceiling window, keeping his eyes trained on the prince and me standing awkwardly before each other.

  I pry my eyes away from the knight’s scrutiny and drag them slowly across the lush vegetation. Large stone planters of palms, gardenias, and exotic plants I can’t name fill the open, airy room. A makeshift waterfall flows over jutting rocks into a cement pond. Lily pads and water poppies float along its rippling surface. Finally, reluctantly, I bring my gaze to the prince.

  He stands straight, his hands clamped behind his back, forcing his shoulders square and himself to his full, lofty height. Notably, only a couple inches shorter than Devlan. His soft, boyish features brighten as he appraises me, and a smile hikes one side of his full lips. “At last, Zara.” He walks two steps closer to me. “We meet.” He unlaces his hands and holds one out to me. A platinum band with a jewel shaped into the Hart crest adorns his right ring finger.

  I remind myself of my purpose: convince him I’m but an enamored maiden, and keep him from suspecting my goal. I insert my hand into his upturned palm. It’s soft, warm, and engulfs mine. “My lord.” I give a poorly executed curtsy.

  He brings my hand to his lips and places a lingering kiss on its back. His golden eyes look into mine. “Please. I’d like there to be few formalities between us.” He releases my hand to brush an escaped blond lock from his eyes. “I’d love for you to call me by my given name, Sebastian. To hear it daily from your lovely lips would inspire me.”

  Dumbfounded, I part my lips, then clamp my mouth closed. Convincing him may not be as easy as I thought. He obviously has a way with the maidens, and is used to charming the skirts off them. What would one of the courtiers do with his flattery? Flirt back? That seems pointless, as we’re to be betrothed by this evening. He’s won, and he didn’t even have an opposing suitor to play against.

  Instead of responding, I give him a bemused smile, hoping he’ll be content with having an effect on me. It seems to work as he returns it, then guides me to a white linen-topped table.

  My eyes dance around the room, seeking windows, doors, openings—a way out of this castle. Trying to center my thoughts, I put my attention back on the prince. For now, I need to be smart and stay focused on him. There will be time later to wander and explore.

  The trickle of the waterfall fills the room as servants pull out our chairs. Sebastian sits, and I smooth the back of my gown and settle onto the seat. He looks to me, and his light-brown eyes—so bright they shine gold—roam the features of my face.

  He takes a sip of water from the goblet before him, then wipes his mouth with the tablecloth. “I know you’ve just arrived,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “and would probably like to get to know the grounds, but I was hoping you’d attend my joust practice on the morrow. Though I’m sure practice is a waste of time, I love the action of the sport.” A confident grin crooks his lips, and he continues when I say nothing. “Don’t worry. No one will unhorse me at the upcoming tournament. They didn’t last year, or the year before.”

  I take a sip from my own goblet, stalling for time to think on how to respond. “Of course, my lord. I’d be honored to attend.”

  He shakes his head, his dirty-blond waves bounce. “Again, do call me Sebastian.”

  “I’m sorry.” I want to kick myself; I’m already messing up. “It’s difficult after being so accustomed.”

  His lips widen into a knowing smile. “Well, let’s make sure to break free of some of those customs.” He winks.

  My skin crawls. I hope he’s not insinuating what I think he is. Even so, I plan to be far away from here before the wedding. Attempting to keep up with his unsettling flattery, I smile again.

  There are things I must know, like why I was chosen, but I’m unsure how to broach the topic. I brace myself with a sharp intake of air and say, “Sebastian.” I pause after testing the feel of his name on my tongue. “May I ask a question of you?”

  “Anything.”

  I straighten my back. “I’m so very honored to be chosen among all the eligible maidens of Karm, but…” I falter.

  “But why were you chosen?” he finishes for me.

  Relieved, I nod. “Yes, my lor—Sebastian. I’m but a simple girl who works on a cloning farm with her father, I…” I trail off, seeing my blunder in his darkening eyes. I’ve mentioned my father. A Taken.

  Sebastian’s eyebrows draw together, and the corners of his eyes crease. “Zara,” he says my name not as warmly this time. “Even raised in the country, I assume you were not denied etiquette classes.”

  “Nay,” I snap. “I was not. But it was only yesterday that he was—”

  “Enough.” He holds up his hand and looks down at his empty plate. My whole body recoils at his harsh command. He glances around the atrium. “Where is that damned servant? Our plates are getting cold.”

  I reach out and touch my plate. It’s
warm. Heated porcelain to hold your food so your meal stays hot. The ridiculous luxury is almost as infuriating as him silencing me. I wait for him to at least answer my question, but it seems he’s forgotten it, apparently vexed.

  I open my mouth to try to coax him into the conversation again, but a loud crackling disrupts the room. Startled, I flinch.

  “’Tis only Sir Devlan’s communicator, Zara,” Sebastian says.

  The knight pulls a silver device from his uniform vest and holds it before his mouth. “Devlan.”

  There is more static, and then a deep voice sounds over the shiny device. “Kyle Levine has been brought in.” Static. “Does the prince wish to oversee the questioning procedure?”

  My chest flutters at the mention of the apothecary. Why has he been brought in? Fear coils in my stomach and I grip my dress, my arms aching from the tension. Devlan looks to Sebastian and I follow his gaze.

  Sebastian pushes his chair back and stands. “Yes, I do,” he says. Then to me, “I’m sorry, Zara. I have to depart for now, but I hope to see you again before the betrothal ceremony.” He forces a smile. “Devlan will appoint you a guard and have you escorted there and, in the meantime, show you around Court.”

  I stand beside him. “Is everything all right?” I know I’m overstepping my bounds, but I don’t like the sound of this “questioning procedure.”

  Sebastian casts an unsure glance at Devlan. “I suppose the princess must become accustomed to castle life soon enough.”

  Devlan’s brow creases. “My lord, surely not on her first day.” He checks himself, squaring his shoulders and lowering his head. “Pardon me, Your Highness. I was merely thinking of—”

  “Nay. You’re right, of course.” Sebastian runs a finger over his chin. “Show Zara out the back way so she doesn’t hear.”

  “Hear what?” I glance between them. “What’s happening?”

  Sebastian takes my hand in his. “I presume in the country you don’t hear much about the affairs of state, but there is a network working to overthrow our realm. I believe this Kyle Levine has information, and we must convince him to share it.” He grimaces. “Until later.”